


Tulips in Spring

by lachatblanche



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Best Friends, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28119963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: They never really qualify it, what it is they have with each other. Sometimes they doubt that even they know. When they are all three together, it is not uncommon for people for them to think they aretogether. And maybe they are.
Relationships: Emma Frost & Tony Stark & Charles Xavier, Emma Frost/Tony Stark/Charles Xavier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Tulips in Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gerec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my darling Gerec! I hope it's (something like) what you want!

Every few months they end up sleeping together.

It’s not something they plan or even something they particularly intend. It’s just one of those things, like one of the natural cycles of the world: birds fly south for the winter, tulips bloom in Spring, and Charles, Tony and Emma sleep together every four to six months.

There’s a prelude to it all, of course. There is always a pressure, a building up of tension before the inevitable release and it is this that usually brings the three of them together. Whatever the years have done, whatever paths they may have trod alone, this always remains the same: when things get rough, when things get _bad_ , the three of them come together. 

The definitions of ‘bad’ have varied over the years. In the beginning, when they were all three of them too small, too rich and too alone, the Bad inevitably referred to their parents or parental figures – or the distinct lack thereof. 

They weren’t natural friends – not in the way that an outsider would believe them to be. Charles was far too wide-eyed and eager to please, Tony too full of abrasiveness and with too little regard for rules and boundaries, and Emma cold, cold, cold, an icy statue that gave away nothing. They fell together simply by virtue of being in each other’s orbits, by being the progeny of the brilliant and filthy rich. 

Somehow, though, in a way that none of the three of them would have thought possible, they _fit_. There was stability in their structure: jagged edges were softened and low esteems were bolstered and strengthened, and something solid and unbreakable was formed in their meeting. From then on, whatever little else they had in terms of human connection and affection, they had each other. 

They had each of them needed that – needed each other – more than they had known. And when things turned Bad – as they so, so often did – that was when they needed each other all the more.

When Kurt would get that look of barely suppressed rage in his eyes … when Howard’s cold distance grew too sharp or his disappointment too heavy; when the Frosts deliberately ignored the lines of red traced across their daughter’s pale white wrists …

Emma sometimes finds one of the two of them looking at her wrists as they lay in bed together. The years have done much to heal those cruel, self-inflicted lines but evidence of their existence still remains and there isn’t much that she can do to hide them when naked in bed.

‘Stop it,’ she tells them, not unkindly but firmly.

‘I just—’ Charles would try, misery in his eyes. 

‘We should have known—’ Tony would grit out, self-loathing clear in his voice.

‘Shh.’ Emma would interrupt, taking them in her arms (in bed, with them, on nights like these it was as if she were no longer a statue, no longer unable to reach out and taste human affection) and would say, low and soft, a promise: ‘It won’t happen again, never again, not since then …’

And it wouldn’t. Because she had them. 

The Bad has changed over time. Their parents still have a hold on them – far too strong a hold, they are all fully aware – but they are no longer children and Tony’s parents are gone, Kurt died in a fire and Emma’s parents appear to have genuinely forgotten she actually exists, so the hurt that this brings only crops up occasionally now, usually on holidays or birthdays and that’s when the three of them are together anyway so it’s never all that soul-shattering or destructive.

For a large part now, the Bad that brings them all together is the bad that happens when their relationships go wrong. 

Which, unfortunately, happens all too often.

‘With the way we grew up it’s no wonder we always fuck things up with other people,’ Tony had explained one night after another one of Charles’s many, many breakups, cigarette in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other. ‘We didn’t have the right role models, see?’

It’s not an unfair analysis in any way, ‘though, one might argue’, Charles admits after one drink too many, ‘that perhaps we have come to use this as an excuse for fucking things up rather than as an explanation.’

Which … fair enough. The fact of the matter is that Tony is far too bad at being in relationships and Charles is far too bad at being _out_ of them, and Emma – well, Emma never allows anyone to get close enough to even hint at a relationship, so really they are all products of very unfortunate circumstances even if they seem to be doing all they can to propagate those same childhood-shaped behaviours long after they’ve left their families behind.

‘It’s a cycle.’ It’s something Charles often repeats when drunk. Which he often is. ‘A vicious cycle. We are all destined to end up like our parents,’ he says, as he helplessly raises a bottle of whisky to his lips.

‘Speak for yourself,’ says Tony, alone in his workshop, punishing himself over his latest invention.

‘Speak for yourself,’ says Emma, in her castle of lonely splendour, raising a cold, judgemental eyebrow.

It is lucky, then, that they have each other. When the drinking gets too intense, Tony is always there to take away the glass and Emma to clear the bottles away. When the work gets too demanding, Charles is always there to wash away the engine oil and Emma to ensure that there is food and clothing and _sleep_ to be had. And when the icy opulence becomes too cold and tomblike, Tony is there to break open the doors and Charles is there to open his arms and offer tender, unconditional warmth.

It’s almost enough to make them grateful, sometimes, for the Bad. 

They realise, the three of them, that what they have is kind of maybe sort of a little fucked up. After all, although they don’t talk about it all that much, they are all well aware that their relationship isn’t founded on the steadiest of beds. It’s easy enough to hide, if they care to – or even if they don’t; after all, no one really cares about them all that much to look past the superficial. Which means that when people look at the three of them, they make all the wrong assumptions: that they have bonded together so closely because they are rich. Because they are beautiful. Because they are assholes. 

And yes – they are in truth all of those things. But there’s a reason that it’s the three of them who have banded together with each other and not, for example, with happy well-adjusted young Reed Richards with the two doting parents and long-term high-school sweetheart.

A therapist would have a field day with them, Tony often jokes.

It’s not a joke that any of them finds very funny. It’s not as if any of them have never had the suggestion made to them before. 

_You should see a psychologist_. With anger, from any number of Tony’s exes. Teachers. Colleagues.

_You should see a psychologist_. With distaste, when Emma’s parents deigned to notice her.

_You should see a psychologist_. With concern, when Charles’s friends – his _other_ friends – catch a glimpse of the frightened, attention-starved mess that resides beneath the wide smiles and gregariousness. 

Tony – Emma – Charles – would hear this calmly, without response. 

The next day, inevitably, they would find each other and fall into bed together.

The words don’t matter. Not really. The sneers, the hurts, the break-ups – they don’t matter. Nor does anyone else. In the end, what it comes down to is that they have each other. _Knowing_ they have each other. And that there is nothing and no one in the world more important than the three of them to each other.

When it comes down to it, that’s all they really need.

‘It’s not just that we are all ridiculously attractive,’ Emma says thoughtfully, before a flicker of a smile crosses lips as she eyes the two naked men in her bed. ‘Though, of course, we absolutely are. It’s just that everyone else is so _exhausting_.’

‘Funny,’ Tony murmurs, raising his head and brushing an affectionate kiss against Charles’s bare shoulder. ‘That’s just what everyone else says about us.’

‘That’s what Az said,’ Charles’s muffled voice comes from where it is buried in a pillow. ‘Right before he broke up with me. That I was too exhausting.’

‘Yeah, well, fuck him,’ Tony says cheerily, though not without a glint of hardness in his eyes.

‘Fuck. Him.’ Emma enunciates, relishing the words, gazing out of the windows into the distance at some far away star.

Charles makes a noise like a harrumph. 

‘Yes, yes,’ he grumbles. ‘Fuck him. But I’d rather you fucked me first.’

Emma blinks, her attention recaptured, and laughs at that, a very rare look of deep fondness coming into her eyes.

‘Well,’ she says, turning an imperious eye on Tony. ‘You heard the man.’

‘No need to ask me twice,’ Tony grins, and then they are all laughing as Charles snakes out an arm and seizes Emma, pulling her down on top of them in one messy, happy pile.

They never really qualify it, what it is they have with each other. Sometimes they doubt that even they know. When they are all three together, it is not uncommon for people for them to think they are _together_. Or that – in various combinations – that two of the three are. And indeed, they have at times been twosomes rather than threesomes. Tony and Charles are the most frequent culprits in this regard, though Emma doesn’t at all mind being left out. Sometimes she deliberately sets herself apart, just to watch from the sides, taking pleasure in the sight of the two of them, the men she loves most in the world.

For it is love, ultimately, that brings them together. More than their shared qualities of attractiveness, their richness, their family connections – more so even than the Bad. 

Maybe their ways are strange to others. Maybe it’s not the traditional way to do things, to love one another. 

But there is a generosity to what they are to each other, a willingness to let go and to be let go of; a generosity that is always ready to welcome back with open arms when, inevitably, a return is desired. A generosity that allows them to always understand and appreciate and _accept_ each other – _all_ of each other – in ways that other people never would or could or have.

And what is love, Emma thinks, if not that?

And so they go on, and so it goes.

Whatever the years have done, whatever paths they may have trod alone, this always remains the same: when things get rough, when things get bad, the three of them come together.

It’s just one of those things, like one of the natural cycles of the world.

Like tulips in Spring.


End file.
